


And Deeper Than Bone

by ilookedback



Series: under your skin [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Biting, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Yearning, maaaaaaybe they loooove each other a little bit!!!, minor injury, nuzzling, soft!Din, soft!paz, the helmets come off but their faces stay unseen, very mild angst, we try to respect the creed in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilookedback/pseuds/ilookedback
Summary: Behind him, Paz drops his head forward too, bringing it to rest between Din’s shoulder blades. They sit quietly for a moment like that, no sound but their twin breaths, and Paz’s hands finally go still resting at Din’s waist.“Close your eyes,” Paz says. Din obeys, and then frowns and starts to open his mouth to question it, when he feels movement behind him. The heavy weight against his back lifts and a soft hiss sounds out as Paz’s helmet is released, and when the presence at his shoulder returns, it is softer and warm and he can feel Paz’s breath hitting against the back of his neck. He keeps his eyes shut tight and holds very still.“Do you remember,” Paz asks, “when we were young and you first came to the tribe.”His warm voice rumbling right at the back of Din’s neck makes him shiver and it takes him a moment to respond.“Yes,” Din says, finally. “Of course I remember.”
Relationships: Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla
Series: under your skin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929973
Comments: 29
Kudos: 251





	And Deeper Than Bone

**Author's Note:**

> This is a follow-up to [Get Under Your Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26369086), but could probably be read as a stand-alone. After I wrote that fic I started thinking about how to pair them together romantically, and it hit me that with BOTH of them helmeted all the time it would be more challenging than usual to lead up to a kiss. I was trying to think of how to work around that and this is what I ended up with. Thank you to yespolkadot_kitty for betaing. <3

Din is perched on the edge of the bed again, and it’s starting to feel familiar, sitting in this position with Paz’s bare hands on him.

This time, Paz is on his knees before him and his hands are not steady and methodical. They’re desperate, tugging off his vambrance, pushing and pulling at Din’s sleeve, only turning gentle when he reaches the gash cut into his left arm. Then Paz slows down, carefully peeling the torn fabric away, exposing the wound to the air. His breathing is harsh, too fast for the quiet of the empty room and the miles they’ve placed between themselves and the now-deceased man with the knife who’d injured Din in the first place. Din places his own steady hand on top of Paz’s, squeezing lightly at his wrist.

“I’m fine,” he assures him. “It’s not that deep.”

Paz stills and lets out a long, heavy breath. “I’ll get the med kit.”

He cleans the cut and tapes it over with a bacta-infused bandage, working with care while Din sits patiently. The fight hadn’t been a long one, and Din hadn’t suffered any other injuries, other than minor bruising to his ego for having let his arm get within range of the man’s blade. But Paz looks him over thoroughly, helmet angled down as he takes in the undamaged breastplate of his armor and the intact sleeve on his other arm.

He sets the medical supplies aside and then moves to sit behind him, starting to work silently at the fastenings of Din’s armor. He gets the plate off and runs his fingers along Din’s back, rucks his shirt up and examines the flesh at his sides, checking for hidden injuries. Din’s own breathing goes shaky at the touch and he drops his head forward, concentrating on making his breaths slow and deep.

Behind him, Paz drops his head forward too, bringing it to rest between Din’s shoulder blades. They sit quietly for a moment like that, no sound but their twin breaths, and Paz’s hands finally go still resting at Din’s waist.

“Close your eyes,” Paz says. Din obeys, and then frowns and starts to open his mouth to question it, when he feels movement behind him. The heavy weight against his back lifts and a soft hiss sounds out as Paz’s helmet is released, and when the presence at his shoulder returns, it is softer and warm and he can feel Paz’s breath hitting against the back of his neck. He keeps his eyes shut tight and holds very still.

“Do you remember,” Paz asks, “when we were young and you first came to the tribe.”

His warm voice rumbling right at the back of Din’s neck makes him shiver and it takes him a moment to respond.

“Yes,” Din says, finally. “Of course I remember.”

“You were so quiet,” Paz continues. “I don’t think you said one word to me. But we were—do you remember, that little bedroom we shared? Who else was there… Tam and Luca, I think.”

Din shrugs a shoulder. Sometimes his memory of that time is hazy and he can’t remember now exactly which of the other boys shared their bedroom all those years ago, but Paz probably has it right. He thinks it might not be important. “I remember the room,” he offers.

“You were homesick,” Paz says. Din had forgotten that, too. “You were so quiet,” he says again. “But I heard you crying in your bunk and I got up and lay behind you just like this.” He tilts his head and nudges his nose against the back of Din’s neck. “I never forgot how you smelled.”

Din swallows and his throat feels tight. He hasn’t thought about it in years. But he remembers this now, Paz warm and comforting at his back.

“Like unwashed boy,” he jokes.

Paz inhales and is silent for a moment. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “Like sad boy,” he says. “And like—some kind of spice I had never had.”

Paz wraps an arm loosely around his chest and Din lifts his hand hesitantly and works his fingers between Paz’s, tangling them together at the fingertips. He feels the lift of Paz’s chest against his back as he breathes and the warm rush of air on the back of his neck when he exhales.

“I remember what you said to me,” Din offers.

_“My buir says it’s okay to cry,” Paz had told him, whispering behind him in the dark while he snuffled into his pillow, this sad boy newly orphaned and far from home. “It’s okay if it makes you feel better. Just never in front of your enemies. But we’ll be friends.”_

Paz tightens his fingers around Din’s. “Good advice?” he asks.

“Yes.”

They breathe together for another long moment, and Din feels the pulsing ache in his arm but the rest of his body feels calm, eyes still shut to block out the room around them, and Paz’s heavy weight resting on his back and over his chest.

“My arm is fine,” he tells Paz.

“I know. I thought—I was worried. I thought it was worse than it was.”

“Why were you worried?”

Paz’s arm tightens. “You know why,” he says, and it’s not harsh but it’s insistent. _You know why, you know why._ “I don’t have people to spare.”

Din exhales. “Right.”

“Neither do you,” Paz points out.

“I only have myself,” Din says, and his breath catches when he feels Paz’s teeth set into his neck. He feels it like a spark of lightning through his core, nerve endings all lit up down his body.

“That’s not true,” Paz says lowly. “You know it’s not.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Paz’s mouth rests gently over the stinging bite mark and he murmurs against his skin. “Take off your helmet.”

Din stiffens.

“I won’t look. I promise. I swear on my life,” Paz whispers. “I already shut my eyes. Just. I want…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants, or maybe he doesn’t know how to say it, or maybe he’s worried that Din will say no. So much time has passed since that night he’d curled up behind Din on the little bed in their shared room. Decades and decades of trust built and broken and restored. Paz is one of the few people still alive who has ever seen his face, and perhaps the only man he trusts to mean it when he says _I swear on my life_.

Slowly, he raises his hands to his head and lifts the helmet, heart pounding hard in his chest as he lowers it to hold in his lap. He feels the room’s stale air on his face and Paz’s nose pressing into the hair on the back of his head. Paz hums curiously.

“Your hair is so long. You don’t cut it?”

Din sighs. It’s disorienting, having his helmet off and his eyes closed with someone else in the room. The adrenaline in his veins is rushing so fast he can hardly think straight.

“Just when it gets in my eyes.”

“Lazy,” Paz says, teasing. He rubs his cheek against the overgrown locks of Din’s hair like he’s feeling for how soft it is.

“I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

“Is that right? Like what?”

Din laughs. “Like making sure my kid can eat.”

Paz huffs a laugh, too, and Din feels the exhalation brush lightly over the back of his ear.

“You like being a father,” Paz observes.

Din hesitates.

“Yes.” It feels like a confession, said out loud. A point of vulnerability only to be spoken among friends.

“It suits you,” Paz continues, tucking his head alongside Din’s, ears pressed together and the soft, tight curls of his beard brushing along Din’s skin. “I always thought it would.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I was foolish, though. I thought your child would look more like you. I thought…” He chuckles, self-deprecating. “I would see your face again in them.”

Din swallows. Breathes deeply in. “You’ve forgotten what I looked like, then. Pointy ears and little sharp teeth.”

Paz turns his face against Din’s neck and he feels his mouth curve up in a secret, hidden smile. Then fingers are skimming over his mouth, pressing between his lips to feel at his teeth, and he opens to let them in and then bites down, trapping Paz’s fingers, tasting the blend of salt and bitter traces of antiseptic on his tongue. Paz’s arms tighten around him.

“Don’t be mean,” he whispers.

Din lets his fingers draw slowly out of his mouth and presses a light kiss to the pads of his fingertips where they rest at his lips. “Sorry.” He isn’t actually, but he knows that Paz knows he isn’t, and that makes the lie a harmless one. Paz moves his mouth to brush along his jawline, leaning around him. He cups his hand around Din’s cheek and Din lets him turn his head easily. He can feel Paz’s lips hovering just to the side of his mouth, the hot breath on his face and the tickling brush of facial hair on his cheek.

“You’re forgiven,” Paz murmurs. Din breathes and tilts his head a little to rest against Paz’s, and then Paz says, “Give me your mouth,” and Din turns his head the rest of the way to meet him for a kiss. Paz sighs into it, all contentment, and runs his other hand under Din’s shirt, pressing his fingers again into his side and making the breath catch in his throat. His eyes are shut so tightly closed he’ll give himself a headache if they keep at this too long.

Paz’s mouth is gentle and sweet, soft brushes of his lips that play over Din’s and don’t press any deeper. It’s Din whose tongue dares to reach out and slide along his lower lip. Paz’s mouth falls open on a gasp, a small, choked noise sounding from the back of his throat, and Din licks into his mouth, feeling the brush of Paz’s tongue against his own. It lasts only for a second before Paz pulls back, breaking their mouths apart, and then gradually he leans in to rest his forehead against Din’s. Their noses knock on the first attempt and Paz laughs quietly, moving his head to make them fit.

“We can’t—” Paz starts, and he sighs and his hands go tight on Din’s cheek and at his side, and then they fall gently away. “I can’t taste you without wanting more than that,” he confesses in a whisper.

Sometimes Din feels that Paz is a part of his bones, knitted into the very structure of his being, like he’d somehow slipped his way inside during those teenage boy years of growth when Din had turned tall and lanky and ravenous almost overnight. His bones had stretched out long and aching and Paz had fitted himself into them and Din wants to tell him there isn’t anything left that’s _more than that_. That if he can get him to remove his helmet like this with a simple request, there might be nothing Din wouldn’t say yes to.

But Paz is already pulling away and shifting back on the bed behind him and Din fumbles blindly to put his helmet back on. Paz’s voice comes after a moment, murmuring _it’s safe_ , and Din finally blinks open his eyes and looks back. Paz has stretched out and is taking up most of the mattress, head propped on the pillow at the head of the bed, broad shoulders only inches from the sides. Din takes in the view. He thinks about stripping off the bulky pieces of Paz’s armor, getting him down to his softest layer of underclothes. Shoving in and making a space for himself there, too. Leaving the light on long enough to locate the initials he’d inked into the top of Paz’s shoulder so many years ago. Turning it off and seeing how dark they can make the room, if anything can be dark enough to make a sin less than a sin. Dark enough to taste again at his mouth and find out what _more_ is. What deeper than bone could be.

The child is waiting for Din to collect him from the older girl he’d paid to watch him this evening while he and Paz went out on their excursion. He’ll need to be bathed and tucked in, and Din needs to clean up, too, see if his bloody, torn shirt sleeve can be salvaged or if it’s a lost cause. He needs to sleep in his own room and rest well for tomorrow, and not press his luck with something that is strong and yet can be too easily broken.

He stands up finally, brushing his fingers over Paz’s hand as he goes, picking up his backplate and left vambrance and glove from where Paz had pushed them aside, and heads to the door. Paz turns his head to watch him leave and Din finally breaks the silence.

“We’re not so small anymore. You should get a bigger bed,” he tells him. He sees Paz start with surprise at his meaning, and closes the door behind him, keeping his smile hidden to himself all the way down the corridor.


End file.
